Carefree
by cathartic
Summary: Ichigo Kurosaki is your average 20-year-old suffering from bipolar disorder. He sees "ghosts". After meeting a friendly, blue-haired schizophrenic during his third stay at the local mental hospital, he's eager to get out and get back to his normal life. (AU, GrimmIchi) (ON HIATUS)
1. Chapter 1

**Carefree**

 **Blurb:** _Ichigo Kurosaki is your average 20-year-old suffering from bipolar disorder. He sees "ghosts." After meeting a friendly, blue-haired schizophrenic during his third stay at the local mental hospital, he's eager to get out and get back to his normal life._

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 **A/N:** Hi, I hope you enjoy :) I'm going to be exaggerating parts of the canon personalities, so they won't be perfectly IC. Not sure how long this will be.

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The clock read 1:34 in the afternoon on a summer's day in mid-August; it was hung on the left side of the western wall in a square room. It was black, with the time electronically presented in green.

The rest of the room was equally plain - the walls a pale cream, a Disney painting of Mickey sweeping Minnie up into a big hug stuck on the northern wall, and a white comforter spread over a twin-sized bed on a metal frame. Off to the eastern corner there was a door that led to a small bathroom, filled with odorless hand-soap and with no shower or bath.

The room was devoid of much else, not cluttered with the usual decorations and small touches that people added to make a room look nice. The hospital designers were concerned more with functionality than presentability - the function of these rooms being that anyone put in them would have an incredibly hard time injuring themselves unless they took to bashing their head into the drywall.

"Will I have access to my laptop to work on my studies?" Ichigo asked quietly, brown eyes looking tired. He tucked an idle hand into his hoodie as he turned away from the woman, observing the room again.

"Yes, of course. What are you studying now? Going back to school must be exciting," Dr. Unohana replied kindly as she made her way over to the bed, propping up the pillows slightly and smoothing out a wrinkle on the duvet.

"Literature," Ichigo replied, dropping his bag of belongings on to the bed. "Can I eat my dinner in here?" he asked as the woman moved away from the bed again, heading back toward the heavy wooden door.

"Do you think you'd like to be a professor? I think you'd be a wonderful teacher. And no, Mr. Kurosaki I'm sorry, you'll have to eat out with the rest of us at least for tonight."

Ichigo repressed a sigh, nodding disinterestedly as he reached inside his bag, pulling out his laptop and placing it on to the nightstand with padded corners. He crouched down, peering around for an electrical socket. "No, I don't like teaching really."

There was a beat of silence before Unohana gave a soft "oh" and frowned slightly. Ichigo began plugging in his laptop, and tried to beat down the rising anger he felt as the memories of why he was there resurfaced. He didn't want to be angry right now, so he would choose not to be. They were his emotions after all.

"Do you like writing?" the doctor asked conversationally as she leaned back against the wall.

"It's all right," Ichigo replied, already getting a rising feeling of suspicion. Almost all the questions in this place had some deeper meaning that he never failed to miss. He preferred a more outright approach to conversation, and all the double-ended questions made him distrustful and a little anxious.

"I'll make sure to get you in for writing therapy then. I'll have your schedule here for you tonight to go over, and one of the nurses can discuss it with you if there's anything on it you'd like to change. All right?"

"Thank you, Dr. Unohana," the redhead said quietly, empty gaze flicking past her as he forced a smile.

She smiled back and reached forward, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze. "I hope I don't see you here again," she said sympathetically, her voice sincere.

Ichigo cringed, and swallowed hard. "Me too."

* * *

By 6 p.m. Ichigo had a bandage strapped to his forearm from where they'd run some blood tests. All the medications in his bag had been confiscated, except for a couple of Tylenol. He'd had an overall checkup and peed in a cup, and after they were sure he wasn't on any illegal drugs they'd sent him off to dinner.

Feeling anything but hungry, he took his time moving toward the cafeteria. When he got inside, a couple of eyes flicked up to him and then back down to their plates, and a few of the patients didn't even seem to register him being there at all, and were staring at the wall with a stoned expression. Ichigo cringed sympathetically, remembering the times he had probably looked like that, and felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach as he thought of what could happen tomorrow.

The events leading to him being placed in the hospital were far less extreme than the situations that had lead to his prior stays, so he hoped that he wouldn't be sedated like that again. However, it was an involuntary stay in an unlocked ward, so they probably would just for the sake of keeping him in.

He made his way over to the hot bar and grabbed a plate, knowing that if he didn't pick something to eat the nurses would be up in arms. He piled some mashed potatoes on to the bottom left corner of his plate, and some baked macaroni and cheese on to the other side. Then he trailed over to an empty table and sat down, beginning to eat.

"Hey," a deep voice said casually, a sudden weight slamming on to the table to the right of him.

Ichigo jumped, eyes widening as he looked up, coming face-to-face with a man with wild, electric-blue hair and matching eyes. He blinked several times, and moved over as he registered the uncomfortable proximity.

"New here?" the guy asked, gesturing to the band-aid on Ichigo's arm.

In response, the redheaded twenty-year-old pulled down the sleeve of his grey hoodie hastily. "No."

"Ah, not your first time being admitted then," the blue-haired man said with a knowing, full-teeth smile that ended up looking more predatory than friendly. "Not my first time either," he said, pulling up the sleeve on his silver-grey button-down shirt, and revealing a matching band-aid. "My name's Grimmjow, nice to meet you."

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 **Review please if you think it's worth continuing!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

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 **A/N:** Happiness writes white. Sorry I took so long to update. Chapters will get longer the further we get into the story, so bear with me!

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"All right, Grimmjow?" a nurse's voice cut into the soft cello music playing in the small room.

"Yeah."

Ichigo laid back on the floor, trying not to eavesdrop while he stared at the smooth white ceiling. Yoga therapy. It seemed like a superfluous title. Wasn't yoga always therapeutic?

"What are you doing?"

Ichigo closed his eyes.

"Wallowing in self-pity, staring into the abyss, wrestling with my self-loathing, and staring at the ceiling, slowly slipping into madness," Grimmjow replied, a laugh scarcely concealed in his tone.

"How the Grinch Stole Christmas," Ichigo said unthinkingly, brown eyes opening and a smile curling around his lips in appreciation.

Grimmjow gave a quiet, low laugh in response somewhere across the room, and there was the muted sound of shuffling as he rolled over.

"All right, let's all get up and stretch now."

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Feeling tired, Ichigo dove under the blankets in his hospital bed, kicking his shoes off haphazardly as he burrowed under the sheets and comforter. He threw his phone sideways on to the bedside table, and curled his fingers into the sheets, pulling them free accidentally from the mattress.

There was a knock at the door, and Ichigo sat upright somewhat belatedly as it swung open, his orange hair looking bed-mussed.

"Here Mr. Kurosaki," the shy, redheaded, young nursing student said as she walked in with a tray of medication and a glass of water. An older nurse supervised her from a few feet away - it must have been her first time working here.

"Oh, thanks," Ichigo replied half-heartedly, reaching for the pills laid out on the napkin. "What are they?"

"Oh, um, uhh—"

"Equetro, Risperdal, and Diazepam. The Diazepam is just for while you're here. You said you were having trouble sleeping," Dr. Unohana said as she stepped into the room after the nurses, looking unusually frazzled.

Ichigo winced, suddenly regretting that admission. "Oh, yeah, thanks," he said mutely, supposing it was better than never getting any sleep. Reluctantly, he took the medication, sipping on the glass of water afterward as he watched the nurses shuffle from the room.

Dr. Unohana sighed heavily, falling into the chair with rolling wheels a few feet away. "How did you like yoga?" she asked, folding her hands into her lap.

"A lot, it was good," Ichigo said enthusiastically as he leaned back against his pillows, a small smile creeping over his lips as he thought about the energetic, blue-haired patient.

"Good," she replied. "I've also got you scheduled for art therapy after breakfast, and group DBT in the afternoon before lunch."

"Okay."

The doctor frowned sympathetically. "Do you have any questions?"

"No."

"None about the new medications?"

"How long do I have to be here?" Ichigo asked, a sudden feeling of itching rage swelling in his chest.

"Just until we see that you don't have any adverse responses to the new medication, and that it's working," Unohana said reassuringly. "At minimum, two weeks. At most, less than two months."

"Okay."

* * *

Ichigo awoke the next day with a swollen tongue, dizzy, and tired. He could hardly keep his eyelids open. He tried to ask the nurse if he was okay, if this was normal, but found it impossible to form words as he was herded out the door and to breakfast.

Stumbling over his own feet, he somehow found himself seated in the quiet cafeteria again. Or maybe he just couldn't hear, but it seemed quiet, either way.

He wasn't sure if there was food in front of him, but his nurse had vanished, so he just sat still. He wasn't going to risk looking like an idiot as he fumbled around for a tray of food that may or may not be in front of him.

He tried harder to open his eyes, but found them reluctantly drooping again. It was hard to focus, anyway.

"Hey," a voice cut into his delirium.

A hand shook his shoulder lightly.

"Hey," he replied hoarsely.

"You should eat, it'll make the side effects wear off sooner," the person sitting next to him informed.

Ichigo tried to nod and found himself leaning heavily against the person, as his muscles gave in from exhaustion. He tried to make a mental note to say whatever dose they gave him of whatever, was way too much.

There was a barking laugh. "I get the feeling," the man he was leaning against responded. If the redhead had the ability to feel embarassed right then, he figured he would, because he wasn't even sure what he had said out loud. He hadn't known he could speak at all.

He forced himself upright and off of the warm shoulder of the guy next to him, the warmth only serving to make him more drowsy. He sloppily reached in front of himself, and found a slice of an apple. Immensely relieved that he could open his eyes enough to see, he took a bite of the fruit, and turned his head to see who was sitting next to him.

He found amused blue eyes, and familiar tousled blue hair. He let his eyes sleepily roam over the unique facial features of the other man, something he hadn't done their first couple of meetings.

He turned back to his plate - as it turned out, yes, there was a plate of food in front of him - and reached for a couple crackers, hoping they would soothe his unsettled stomach.

Grimmjow stood up suddenly. "Be right back, getting myself a plate," he said, and Ichigo nodded as he continued to pick at his food.

He sipped some water, and the swelling of his tongue went down a little. Grimmjow came back a few minutes later, and they finished breakfast together.

"I have art therapy," Ichigo said after he started to stand up, still feeling unsteady but slowly gathering his bearings.

Grimmjow grinned, scooping up another bite of cereal. "You should get going then, I think it's already started," he said as Ichigo dumped his plate into the nearest garbage can.

Silently berating himself for feeling disappointed when he realized Grimmjow didn't share that group therapy with him, he nodded, forcing a smile and waving as he started off down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

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 **A/N:** Hey! Thanks so much for all the amazing, awesome reviews, favorites, and follows! Every bit of support means so much to me, thank you. Sorry this update took so long, I find this story is a slow one to write itself in my mind. I hope it was worth the wait. :)

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As the day progressed, Ichigo could feel subtle changes that he'd come to recognize over the years as his warning signs.

He was unusually sociable, bold, and maybe a little abrasive. He laughed readily at sometimes inappropriate moments, and he had small muscular twitches every couple hours. A leg, an arm, an eyelid. Twitches. He felt excited, and he had no reason to.

It only really took hold of him a few hours after lunch; after a walk around outside making _several_ new acquaintances, he felt something change.

He could feel butterflies erupting in his chest, and an uncontrollable laugh bubbled from his lips. Ichigo looked down at his hands, his vision blurring uncontrollably from his new medication.

He scowled, his joy dissipating just as soon as it had come as he found himself angry at the side effects. He already knew that once he got home he'd be tempted to go off the Equetro. However, it was difficult to focus on that, as the tension in his chest muscles kept the fluttering sensation around long after the initial burst of elation.

He stood up, and began to pace. He checked the time: unreadable-blur-o'clock, ah, yes, he was certainly late for his yoga.

Laughing at his internal jokes, he paced faster. He could hear a faint humming and buzzing somewhere from down the hall; which was impossible, because his room was soundproof.

He stopped pacing to dig for his phone. He pulled it out of his bag, unrolling the headphones attached to it, and turned on a playlist as he listened to his mind flit back and forth from thought to thought. It was like watching several different television shows at once.

He wasn't sure what songs were playing from his phone, just that if they were too slow, he changed the playlist, and began to listen again. When they fit the pace, he paced faster. He would turn the music rhythmically up and down with the sound of his heartbeat as he paced, a dazed smile capturing his features most of the while.

He knew he could be an amazing artist, or doctor—famous, wealthy, successful. He knew he could be anything he wanted to be. It was an enormous emotion. So great. He knew he was manic, but knowing what it was didn't slow it down. He wanted something alcoholic to drink, maybe it would calm him. Or make him even more impulsive. He wanted to go for a long, fast drive to nowhere, but he'd crashed his car. That's what had gotten him in here the last time.

He froze in his pacing to stare up at the vent, fixated. He forgot to breathe, so he forced a breath. He reached up a hand to check his pulse, which felt like it should be erratic, but instead was perfectly steady. Maybe a little quick. He couldn't focus long enough to count.

Curious, the redhead turned on his heel and headed into the bathroom. Pausing to smile at the safety-edges on the mirror, Ichigo leaned in close, staring into his own dilated pupils. Their was only a rim of honey-brown irises visible, the rest of the color consumed by inky, reflective black.

He could swear he saw a shadow in the corner of his eye, so he spun around. _Nothing_. Shaking himself, he quickly walked out of the bathroom, and turned his music back up.

He collapsed on to his bed, shoulders hunched forward, and a laugh shook his form. He tore his headphones out, tossing them aside. He swallowed again and again—he forgot where he was, then remembered. He looked around, wondering if his surroundings had always looked quite like that.

The sound of an old radio with static got louder. He tensed, and covered his ears, pinching his eyes shut. He wanted to know where it was coming from, but he knew it wasn't real. He opened his eyes again, and saw a brown-haired man, about six feet tall, dressed business-casual. He was looking away. Ichigo's heart constricted and he scrambled backwards. He closed his eyes, and forced himself to lay down, his heart beating frantically now

There was a knock on the door, and he shot upright. The hallucination of the man was gone, and in walked the redheaded nursing student from earlier. Ichigo swallowed hard several times, nodded to her silently, and took the offered medication.

He hated night-time.

"Are you all right, Mr. Kurosaki?" she asked timidly, pausing at the doorframe.

"Yeah I'm okay," Ichigo replied without pausing for breath, the words coming out tense, short, and a little loud. He cleared his throat, and repressed the grin he felt nearing the surface at the lameness of his own attempt at lying.

"I'm always here if you need something, just press that button," she said, gesturing to the nurse-call button on the remote by his bed.

Ichigo started at that, and then looked to the wall, remembering the TV.

"Yeah, okay, thanks," he replied, sitting back as he waited for the Valium to kick in. Normally he would hate the situation, but the promise of sleep and an escape from hours of uncontrollable rushing and hallucinations was tempting enough. He didn't want to have a longer stay than necessary.

He laughed humorlessly into the empty room after the nurse shut the door behind her.

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"So what are you in here for?"

It was the next morning, and Ichigo felt a flash of guilt as the words fell from his own mouth. He hated when people asked him that question, and it was frustrating when his own verbal filter went to shit and abandoned him.

"Never mind," he amended when Grimmjow looked up from his cereal, seeming surprised.

"'Suicide' attempt," he answered anyway, using air quotes. "Not a _real_ one, but they didn't believe me when I said I had no intent to die," the blue-haired man elaborated, a crooked grin brightening his features as he set down his spoon.

"Oh," Ichigo replied. He looked at the guy's milky spoon, and the floating Lucky Charms in his plastic bowl.

Looking back at his own sub-par eggs and bacon, he wished he'd gotten cereal too.

"Your turn," Grimmjow said, nudging him with his elbow as he returned to his cereal, carefully picking only the marshmallows as he ate.

Ichigo stiffened, suddenly feeling like he might throw up, and gripped the edge of the table. His knuckles turned white.

"Hey, you don't have to share," Grimmjow said with a shrug, then tipped the rest of the cereal contents back into his mouth, licking the milk off of his upper lip and setting down the empty bowl.

Ichigo nodded, and huffed out a breath, releasing his death grip on the table. He pushed the greasy, undercooked bacon away from his eggs with his plastic fork.

"Why don't you come to music therapy with me?" Grimmjow offered after Ichigo had pushed his plate away from himself, most of his breakfast still on it.

"Sure!" Ichigo found the reply tumbling from his own lips before he could think about the proposition. He hoped it wasn't a problem to crash in on therapies he wasn't scheduled for. He looked up and smiled, his chest feeling warm as he looked intently into the guy's blue eyes.

They looked almost artificially blue. Maybe he had some sort of genetic disorder that made them that color. Grimmjow smiled at him, looking amused, and Ichigo smiled back.

Realizing it was weird to stare directly into someone's pupils, Ichigo looked back down at the table, his stomach feeling warm. He clenched and unclenched his fists.

He heard the other guy laugh as he stood up. "Come on."

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 **Please review if you'd like to read the next chapter soon!**


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